Chapter 7: When the stukas struck

Pinios Gorge and the withdrawal to Brallos Pass 15–19 April 1941

The convoy was approaching the outskirts of Larissa when the Stukas struck again. They were coming for the town and we watched as bombs sent the walls of two houses crumbling. A woman ran down the road screaming. Further on was passed a dead civilian, a pool of blood around his head which a dog was lapping up.1

Nurses of the 2/6th Australian General Hospital take refuge in a cemetery in Argos to avoid an air attack, 24 April 1941. (AWM 087663)

The gorge created by the Pinios River as it gouges its way from the plain of Thessaly through the southern slopes of Mount Olympus to the sea is a dramatic sight and rich in history. According to the ancient Greek historian Herodotus, in 480 BC the Athenians assembled a force at the western end of the gorge to hold back the great army of Xerxes, the King of Persia. Herodotus also recorded, somewhat sceptically, that the creation of this spectacular cleft in the earth was the work of the god Neptune:

Any man who believes that Neptune causes earthquakes, and that chasms so produced are his handiwork, would say, upon seeing this rent, that Neptune did it. For it plainly appeared to me that the hill had been torn asunder by an earthquake.2

On 16 April 1941 the 21st New Zealand Battalion was forced by heavy German attacks to abandon its positions on the seaward side of the gorge at Platamon. As the New Zealanders withdrew they were told that help was on the way and that the western end of the gorge must be denied to the enemy until at least 19 April. They were to hold on even if this meant 'extinction'. Anzac Corps HQ now diverted two battalions on their way south to Thermopylae—the Australian 2/2nd and 2/3rd Battalions—to the western end of the Pinios Gorge near the village of Tembe. Here on 18 April, with the New Zealanders, they met the Germans advancing over the slopes of Mount Olympus and through the gorge. That day, according to Australia's official historian Gavin Long, 'seemed likely to be the critical hours of the campaign'. If the Germans broke through too quickly and reached the major road junction of Larissa, they could cut in two the whole British withdrawal down through central Greece.

Lieutenant Rex Moore of the 2/2nd Battalion tersely summed up the battle of 18 April at the gorge:

Hun attacked at 7.30 am we were completely outnumbered. Panic set in and the troops dispersed. Hun tanks making a hullabaloo. NZ gunners were wonderful. At dusk I got 8 carriers [Bren gun carriers] out to Bde [Brigade] and tanks followed. Lost many trucks. Col Lamb [2/3rd Battalion] gathered the rest together and all off.3

However, it had taken a much larger force of German infantry supported by tanks and air cover until nightfall to drive the Australians and the New Zealanders from their positions and into the hills. At some points the defenders inflicted heavy casualties on their attackers:

To the right of us Huns waded the river with water up to their armpits and although they were peppered with our lights [light machine guns] and mortars, and left a lot of dead and wounded to float down the river, large numbers managed to get over.4

As the Germans pressed their attacks at the Pinios Gorge, to the north-west elements of the 2nd and 9th Armoured Divisions tried to force their way through a mainly New Zealand force guarding the road over the Menexes Pass to Elasson. Supporting the New Zealanders was the Australian 2/3rd Field Regiment. As the Germans advanced, the regiment's guns fired so constantly that the paint on the gun barrels blistered and peeled off and some gun crews suffered severe haemorrhaging of their ear-drums from concussion. The regiment's war diarist summed up their achievement on that critical day for the British withdrawal:

Exciting day in which 6500 rounds were fired by the regiment. Tanks appeared in the early morning and troops formed up but the consistent shooting of the regiment stopped the enemy and the infantry made no contact.5

Of the 2/3rd's performance that day the regiment’s historian, Les Bishop, records:

The opening shots of the Elasson action heralded what is regarded as the Regiment's finest performance as a unit in war. Many valiant battles were to follow, but never again would it line up its guns and stand off the full assault of an attacking enemy.6

As dusk came on 18 April, many German tanks were across the Pinios River and pushing hard against the rearguard there. Brigadier General Arthur Allen, the commanding officer of the 16th Australian Brigade, watched the almost surrealistic action:

It was a fantastic battle. Everybody was on top (no time to dig in), and all in the front line, including artillery, Bren carriers, infantry and various unit headquarters, with unit transports only a few hundred yards in rear. Some confusion could be expected with every weapon firing and aircraft strafing from above. If you saw it at the cinema you would say the author had never seen a battle.7

Darkness finally rendered the Panzers ineffectual and allowed the surviving Australians and New Zealanders to escape:

The commander of the leading tank stood waist high in the turret peering out into the darkness; he was riddled by the fire of the troops … Lieutenant Colonel Lamb's [commanding officer, 2/3rd Battalion] voice could be heard above the tumult shouting, 'Make every shot tell, men; these tanks can't fight us in the dark'. All the German tanks wheeled and stopped, firing at random.8

While that day at Pinios Gorge many Australians and New Zealanders felt the individual bitterness of defeat and capture, the force as a whole had achieved its aim. By dawn on 19 April the British convoys were all south of Larissa.

From the air the 112 kilometres of the main road south between Larissa and Lamia on 18 and 19 April revealed an endless stream of British military vehicles, in places travelling nose to tail. Over the convoys there flew unhindered the dive bombers and bombers of the Luftwaffe, for by mid-April the Germans had achieved virtual air superiority in Greece. As Private Charles Robinson remembered, the most loathed of the German aircraft was the Stuka dive-bomber:

Its evil silhouette, with cowled wheels on a fixed undercarriage resembled the talons of a bird of prey, its strangely shaped wings with air-brakes to control the dive were akin to flight feathers of some monstrous creature from a childhood nightmare and the shriek of its siren as it dived vertically seemed to penetrate your brain.9

Private Jack Daniel, 2/6th Battalion, recalled the seemingly endless nature of the German air attacks on the convoys:

2 pm—Well, we have just got up off our bellies after a visit from some of the Hun bombers … we seem to be in a bad spot here. A man will be getting blisters on his belly from diving for cover.10

Sergeant Robert Robertson left a grim description of the chaos on the road south of Larissa and over the passes:

Never have I seen so many planes and never again do I want to. The great passes through Larissa to Lamia and the Pass of Thermopylae were narrow, the road churned into thick, gluey mud and embellished on both sides with burning and tipped-over transport artillery put out of action, dead horses, mules, sheep, and cows, Greeks walking and riding in wagons drawn by all types of motor and animal powers.11

The attack with the most serious potential to halt the convoys came at 9.30 am on 18 April. A German bomb missed the Enipeus River bridge just north of Pharsala but hit a truck-load of explosives and the blast cratered the road leading to the bridge. Soon there was a 16-kilometre back-up of trucks, prime targets for the German bombers and fighters who now roared overhead and set fire to a few vehicles. Brigadier Clive Steele, the Anzac Corps' chief engineer, arrived at the bridge and took charge of the situation. An officer was sent back along the rapidly growing line of trucks to order every driver forward to the bridge with his pick and shovel and, with help from various units and a Cypriot pioneer company, the crater was filled in and a detour cut around it. Eventually, a complete by-pass was built down the embankment round the crater and up to the bridge. By 1.30 pm the work was done and the long column of trucks moved forward.

During those days of retreat and air attack, senior commanders tried to keep up morale by showing their willingness to share the danger of the ordinary soldier. General Freyberg was observed casually ignoring an enemy aircraft as it machine gunned him and later he helped clear a traffic jam. General Mackay sat out in the open for his men to see during an air raid. In Gavin Long's words, 'each was frequently forward with a rearguard brigade at critical moments'. On another occasion, a couple of days later, Brigadier Vasey spotted some of his men taking cover from distant German planes. Determined that the enemy in these unopposed air attacks should not undermine confidence, Vasey strode over to them:

'What are you doing there', he demanded. 'The Stukas, sir', they replied. 'What bloody Stukas? All I can see is bloody crows!'12

Two groups who were not normally caught up in action found themselves very much in the front line during the withdrawal in Greece—the drivers of the AASC (Australian Army Service Corps) and the Provost Corps (Military Police). During an attack by a dozen dive-bombers near Pharsala, Driver Felix Craig engaged the enemy planes with a machine gun and, while making himself a target until he was killed, he allowed other trucks to escape. Soldiers paid tribute to the attention and care of the drivers whose skill on the narrow Greek mountain passes undoubtedly avoided many a life-threatening accident. The unenviable job of the Provosts was to keep the line of traffic moving and at times this involved considerable danger, as can be seen in the citation for the Military Medal awarded to Sergeant Tom Osborne:

He volunteered to take charge of a traffic control party at the Portas Pass … [and] kept the pass open for traffic. This pass was vital … and was subject to enemy artillery fire as well as being frequently bombed and machine gunned from the air … [He] patrolled the danger area continuously … until he was severely wounded.13

While the soldiers endured enemy air attack, all around them the people of the small towns and villages of central Greece lost both their lives and their homes. From the start of the campaign on 6 April lines of refugees streamed south and packed into centres like Larissa and Lamia. For the Australian war correspondent, Kenneth Slessor, the refugees were the 'saddest sight of all':

Some trudge on foot, others are on gaunt farmhorses or walk beside tiny mules tottering under their loads. Each has all he can call home rolled up in a blanket … A woman with a pinched face … rode holding two babies, one gnawing a biscuit. A man in a tattered uniform toiled wearily at the side. Beside them two bullocks pulled a covered wagon in which sat two women hooded in black and with black shawls across their faces. It might have been a funeral van. They were lucky, for many of the women were walking, some of them lifting bruised feet clad in soft felt slippers.14

Driving south on 18 April, Sergeant Lawson Youman, AASC, watched the destruction of Lamia by the Luftwaffe. As he passed through the town just before the raid, he saw hundreds of women and children packed along the streets. Watching the bombs hit, it seemed as if Lamia was 'flying in the air' and Youman felt that many of them must have been killed or maimed. Later, he became separated from his unit and like other Australian soldiers he had occasion to be grateful to the Greek people for their help despite their own desperate situation:

Some of the Greeks have taken me in and have given me a feed of eggs and a bed on the floor and I am glad to get to bed after such a day and narrow escapes. I thank God for keeping me safe.15

By late on the evening of 20 April 1941, most of the British force, except for stragglers, was beyond the Brallos Pass and behind the new Thermopylae Line. The withdrawal had not been effected without loss in both men and equipment. An air attack on 19 April, for example, had seen two Australian battalions—the 2/6th and 2/11th—lose seventeen killed and thirty-five wounded. But many kilometres of cratered road now faced the Germans before they could advance on this new defensive position. For those with a sense of ancient Greek history, however, the location of this new line might have seemed ominous. It was at Thermopylae in 480 BC that Leonidas and his gallant Spartans had defied the might of King Xerxes' Persian army and, for all their bravery, lost the battle.